


Into Hell: Tumblr Shoker Writing

by Neph Moreau (NephthysMoon)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:52:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephthysMoon/pseuds/Neph%20Moreau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various writings for asks/prompts/Mass Effect Holidays that have ended up strewn throughout my tumblr. Never really complete, at least until I completely give up on the pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shepard's Birthday, 2015

One of her earliest memories of Ellie is their fifth birthday. Their fathers weren’t very close - not after John had joined the Alliance and Matt had fled to Mindoir to escape it - but every year, Hannah and Rebecca made sure that the two branches of the Shepard family had at least one call, on the girls’ shared birthday. Ari had reached up to the screen, trying to touch her cousin’s face, and Ellie had done the same, their hands resting against each other’s across all of space.

As they’d gotten older, they’d called each other themselves, but that birthday call was always special, as soon as the first one up woke.

She remembered Ellie calling when they turned thirteen; it was three am on Mindoir, but she hadn’t cared. They were finally teenagers. That call had lasted three hours and had given Aunt Hannah fits when she’d gotten the bill - Uncle John was long gone by then.

She remembered the birthday call when they turned fifteen. No idea what was in store for them, both of them. Sixteen - her heart was in her throat. It was only two months after that call, when she’d told Ellie about Kevin, about wanting to be a teacher when she finished school, all of her hopes and dreams, that her life had changed.

Their seventeenth birthday was the first one they’d spent together, but it was the first one she’d spent without her parents, and she was so angry, all the time. She’d thrown Aunt Hannah’s gift against the wall, the brief flash of joy when the delicate crystal shattered a sharp pain when she realized what she’d done. Ellie has held her then, let her cry for the family she would never see again.

Their eighteenth birthday they’d joined the Alliance: Ellie, because she’d always wanted nothing more than to be just like her mother, and Ari because she wanted somewhere to put all of her rage - she wanted to be on the colonies, fighting the batarian bastards who’d taken her family.

Their twenty third birthday was a long-distance call via omni-tool, as Ellie joked about sniper training and Ari tried not to remember the feeling of being a monster. It wasn’t a new feeling; she’d had it, to some extent, since she’d fought her way through the batarian slavers when she was sixteen, and she’d unleashed it in full on Elysium, and now she didn’t know how to contain it.

Their twenty-fourth birthday, she sat at Ellie’s bedside, wondering if her cousin - her sister - would ever walk again. Her rage was gone, she was hollow, empty. Aunt Hannah and Captain Anderson were recommending her for ICT in the wake of Elysium and her efforts on Akuze, her efforts to save Ellie, but she couldn’t go - not yet. Not until she knew that Ellie would be okay.

Their twenty-sixth birthday, Ellie was on crutches and hugging her goodbye as she left. The doctors were sure she’d never go in the field again. Ellie was determined to prove them wrong, but in her eyes, Ari saw the truth. It was up to her now. Every time she strapped on her armor, every time she put on the piece with the stripe of red and white down the arm that Ellie had wanted more than anything, she had to do it for her cousin - her precious, wonderful cousin who had given her so much, and had had everything taken from her in return.


	2. November 7 2014: N7 Day

The first time it happened, it wasn’t much, really. A carving made from synthetic wood, whittled by by fingers that obviously knew what they were doing. The paints had been requisitioned on the Citadel, and she’d remembered wondering what in the seven levels of hell any one would want model paints for, but she’d been pissed at the council and more than a little tipsy and ready to spend their credits. She remembered smirking when she imagined some paper-pusher coming across that line in their expenses, fully expecting it to be docked from her pay later, but she’d never heard a word about it. Later, when the acrid smell had burned her nose, she’d laughed and told him she should have known it was him. But she hadn’t known, then, what he’d used them for. It wasn’t until a few weeks later, after Virmire, that she’d found the little carving, no bigger than her palm, on the desk in her quarters.

She’d clenched it, noting how smooth the edges were, how the letter and number that marked her designation, her place in the galaxy, seemed to flow together seamlessly - it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and she needed the reminder of the hard lessons she’d learned in ICT right then. She’d remembered her favorite instructor, her favorite class, the lessons she’d learned about never, ever sending her soldiers into needless battles, and promised Kaidan that he would not have died in vain.

There were others waiting for her - two more - when she came back and found that it had been made into some sort of grotesque holiday in honor of her. Not in honor of Anderson or Gausche or the others that had, as the saying went, “spilled the same blood in the same mud”, but her. They’d taken the unofficial day that she and those like her had quietly celebrated in whatever way they saw fit and turned it into a disgusting recruitment campaign in her name. It was tempting to let the Reapers wipe them out for the disrespect they’d shown to the people that had done their dirty work for damn near a century with a minimum of recognition, but fuck them, they had trained her better than that - and so had Aunt Hannah.

So she’d gathered up the unpainted wood carvings, since apparently Cerberus couldn’t be bothered to buy model paints - too busy stealing plans for the Normandy, bringing her back from the dead, and cloning her, she guessed, to worry about replacing one of the few goddamned things she really needed from the old ship, and stopped the Collectors, trying not to feel the knife in her back from Udina, from Ash - hell, from almost everyone - all while still doing all the little favors they asked of her, clutching those little wooden carvings so she could sleep at night and missing the acrid smell of paint in her sleep.

When she got out of prison, she expected to find another one. Yet again, she’d missed the day. The two worn ones were in her cabin, stained from the grease of her guns and the dirt of dozens of planets and the blood of thousands that never seemed to wash out, not entirely, but there wasn’t a new one.

There were new, upgraded weapons, exclusive to her, and a warm, snuggly jumper that she appreciated, sure, all thoughtfully ordered by her ship’s “VI”, and she wondered if he had been so busy with EDI that he hadn’t remembered, or if the soft, synthetic cotton zip-up was meant to replace the hours of labor he’d put into the wood working.

After what felt like days, she was finally free to make her way to the bridge, where she found him with a small knife and a block of wood.

“Hey, Commander,” he said, not looking up from his work. “Sorry it’s late. Apparently, the guards felt like I was a suicide risk - wouldn’t give me a knife when you were in prison.”

She smiled, a rush of warmth flooding her. “I’ll get you some paints on the Citadel,” she promised.

“I appreciate it,” he said, focused on his work. “I always felt bad that those other two were so plain, but it looks like you got some use out of them anyway.”

“I’ve never really thanked you, Joker,” she started, but he shook his head.

“You never have to, Shepard,” he said. “I don’t thank you for doing what you do and I can’t. No one does. The Council doesn’t. Ash sure didn’t. No one ever does, Shepard. This is my way of thanking you.”

She smiled, touched at the rare moment of eloquence from her snarky pilot. “Wonder if there’s a Flight Lieutenant Day?” she asked, grinning.

“C'mon, Shepard, that’s every day!” he said with a laugh. “Now get out of here, or I’ll make sure Doc knows who to blame when I slice my finger open and she has to bandage me up.”

Liara found the first one, a few years later, in the remains of Shepard’s foot locker. It had been surprisingly unscathed. Hannah Shepard carried it with her until the day she died, sure that her niece was watching over her. They found one with the remains of Anderson, placed in his hands over his chest, as though he was sleeping. When he was given a hero’s burial, it was strung like a medal on his uniform - a final benediction from his protege. The other unpainted one was found charred with Shepard’s remains. Her armor had kept her alive for two days after she’d fired the Crucible, but it had taken three to locate her in the rubble. Joker had wrapped her fingers around it just before they’d closed her casket.

The last one, the one he’d painted a few days before their final trip to Horizon, he carried in his pocket, worrying it like a stone until the paint was all but gone, and when he was buried next to the rest of the Normandy’s crew, Liara performed the duty for him that she had performed for so many of the others. She read the words of the ancient priests of the Hanar, and wrapped his fingers around the talisman, asking Kalahira to guide him to Shepard, so that they could find each other again.


	3. Anon Ask: June 22 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID: in response to your line of dialogue-pairing-something happy post. "give me a hand" joker and edi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make it actually make it Joker/EDI, and since this is headcanon for one of my many Shoker pairings, I included it in this!

He’s not an engineer. Not even close. Hell, the shit they teach at flight school is basic electrical repairs 101 - and the Normandy is anything but basic. She’s pretty much the most advanced ship flying right now - except she’s not, and that’s the problem.

The Normandy’s crashed, and he’s the only one left on board to fix her. He’s got Commander Beth’s feed up in his ear, just so he can keep in touch with the ground team somehow. Save the Normandy, save Beth. He can’t do the latter without the former, so as far as he can tell, the priorities are pretty much in order.

“Alright, EDI, what next?” he asks, hoping it’s not another trip through the ducts. He’s pretty sure he’s got a few cracked ribs, and his knees are already protesting from his earlier trips.

“Now you need to connect the AI subroutines to the Tantalus drive directly so that I can run diagnostics,” she replies, and he frowns. Before EDI, he’s never really been much for VIs, let alone an AI like her. He’s competent with computers, but he’s far from a hacker. Subroutines into the drive core of the ship sounds like something - technical. Something an engineer would know how to do.

“C’mon, EDI, I don’t have time for this - give me a hand, please!” he begs.

“I lack the physical presence to offer the requested appendage,” she says, completely deadpan - and he knows she can mimic emotions in that slightly mechanized voice. “That was a joke, Jeff.” He smiles, just a bit, every time she says it. It’s such a novel idea, an AI joking with him - an AI with his sense of humor. He likes it. He just - doesn’t have time for it right now.

“EDI,” he says warningly. 

“Very well,” she replies. “The cables at your feet.”

Before she can finish her explanation, Beth comes on the line. Tali is on her way back with the missing crewmen - ALL of them - and the doctor. For the first time in what seems like days, he actually smiles.


	4. For Heidi (September 21 2013)

When he looked up and saw her, standing behind him as he flew the new Normandy into the beginning of their next gods forsaken mission, the one that was likely to get them all killed (and hell, wasn’t that why he signed on to begin with – it wasn’t until he’d already signed on the dotted line that they’d promised him a new, better, faster Normandy and that they’d bring her back to him, make up for his mistakes), he knew without a doubt that while some things had changed (and there was still a small piece of him that missed Kaidan’s dry sense of humor – so subtle that it was almost non-existent unless you knew him well) for the most part things were back to normal. Sure, the Commander didn’t know all that had happened while she’d been out of it for the past two years, but he wasn’t about to dump all that on her at once. Let her find out in stages.

“As much as I hate taking orders from Cerberus, I’ve looked over those dossiers,” she murmured, bending low as to try to avoid the presence of that damned AI. “The salarian really _is_ a good choice for first pickup. Head for Omega and I’ll go punch in the coordinates.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Shepard, it is customary to allow the computer’s navigational systems to direct the ship, not Mr. Moreau,” the automated voice recited as the blue ball popped into ‘life’ next to him. He groaned.

“Yes, _thank you_ , EDI,” she said. “But I like to have a personal touch with all members of my crew, and Joker likes to keep a personal touch on his ship. We’re both very hands-on people. It’s why we work so well together. Please, make sure you put that in our files.” She smirked at him and walked away, presumably to punch in the coordinates for Omega. God, there were times he just loved that damn woman – no, wait, he didn’t mean it like that! It was just – DAMMIT! Now he was getting flustered in his own head.

“Mr. Moreau,” the menace said. “Your heartbeat and breathing are indicating that you are feeling distress. Should I summon the medical specialist to attend to you?”

“No. Now buzz off,” he snapped, taking a deep breath.


	5. Keep The Fish (September 27 2013)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Heidi...

“Fish died again?” he asked her one night when she came storming into the cockpit. She shot him a glare that had been known to stop krogans mid-charge. He laughed. 

“I just don’t understand it,” she complained, perching on the railing that separated him from the blue menace. “I do everything right. I checked the water temperature, and it’s fine. The chemical balance is fine. Literally, everything that could be wrong is perfectly normal. So why do my fish keep dying?”

He choked back enough laughter at seeing her so distressed. “Commander - Beth - EDI tells me you forget to feed them.”

“EDI, are you spying on me?” she asked. The blue ball popped up behind her, and Beth turned around to face it.

“Shepard, I noticed that the death of your fish was causing you distress and began monitoring the tank to see if there was a cause. On average, you feed the fish every 4.7 days. That is not often enough for most fish to survive in a sterile tank. Perhaps if you set the tank up with live coral they might live longer.” Joker tilted his head - had that thing just - tried to do something _nice_ for Beth?

Beth stammered out a thank you and EDI popped out of ‘existence’. She turned and faced him again. “Is it just me, or was that really weird?”

“Is it starting to develop a personality?” he asked. They both looked to where the AI usually lit up in its now-familiar shape. The area was dark, but he knew it was listening, recording what they said and processing it. 

“Live coral, huh?” she mused. “Think it will work?”

“If the blue menace said it, I’m sure it will help.”

A few weeks later he realized he hadn’t heard any news about dead fish in awhile, so he waited for her to swing by the cockpit before she went to bed. He realized, with a bit of surprise, that it was her habit to do so every night, without fail, no matter how tiring the groundside had been. He smiled. She still left him in charge of his baby when she went ashore, even though she had Garrus and Tali from the old crew that she could trust, and it drove Miranda nuts to even nominally report to him, the lowly pilot. He kinda liked it, though - not that he’d ever tell Beth that.

And there she was, almost like clockwork. “Commander - Beth - how’s it going?” he asked, always having to correct himself. Truthfully, it was almost fun to say her name that way. Commander Beth was so much less intimidating than Commander Shepard, and he was still giving the woman he reported to the respect she was due. He figured it was win-win, and she never called him out on it.

“It’s not too bad. We picked up that thief on the Citadel today. I think she’s the last,” she said, leaning against the rails.

“Good, because I’m not sure how many more we can hold. I’ll tell you, crew quarters on this ship might be nicer than on the old Normandy, but it’s no better when I’m sharing a bunk with Ken from Engineering. I’m not sure when the last time he washed his feet was, but it can’t have been recent.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know you said so, Joker,” she said with a laugh. “What was it he told me about you not too long ago? That anyone who views that much porn really needs to see Chakwas about it?”

“Yeah, yeah, Ken doesn’t know crap about that, but I see EDI’s been ratting me out again - while we’re on the subject of embarrassing habits, Commander - Beth - how are your fish doing? Killed any more lately?” he asked.

“Not a single one - though one did I go missing - I think maybe another one ate it. Tali said they do that!” She looked appalled. 

“Didn’t you have fish growing up as a kid?” he asked, looking at her face. Man, if he could sell a picture of it right now, he’d make a fortune. To think, Reapers and Collectors and gods-knew-what-else and this woman faced it with a mask on, but give her cannibalistic fish and her jaw hits the floor. He grinned.

“Joker, I grew up on a ship with my mom, for the most part. Wasn’t a lot of room for fish tanks on old Alliance vessels - I’ve never really had a pet before,” she admitted with a small smile.

His grin dimmed a bit, and he felt like his heart was cracking, just a bit. Savior of the whole damn galaxy, and fish - FISH - were her first pets? “At least get a hamster or something, Beth,” he said. “It’s just - less pathetic that way!”

“Joker,” she said, looking a lot less wistful and a lot more cynical - much more like her usual self, in fact, “what do you think would happen to the hamster in 4.7 days?”

He thought about it and shook his head sadly. “Never mind. Keep the fish.”


	6. Housewarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Heidi...

She’s settled into her new place when they throw her a housewarming, and everyone is there. It’s so strange to be planetside, but the doctors were adamant: no more space travel until she’s fully healed. The Alliance has effective grounded her and she’s got nowhere to go, so she buys a small house and pretends to be surprised when they throw her the party (Kasumi is terrible at keeping secrets from her).

There are some gifts that are typical. Samara provides her with cooking essentials. “You are entering your matron years, my friend. It is time to leave the recklessness of the maiden behind you,” as she bestows the gift onto her lap and a gentle kiss to her forehead. Wise words, too bad she’ll probably ignore them.

Tali’s ‘emergency induction ports’ are perhaps the best gift. “In case you need to get really, really drunk some night, Shepard.” The bag of straws is so large she doubts it will fit into any of her drawers, but that’s okay. 

The last box is from her pilot and the box is fairly large. She raises her eyebrows at him, wondering why he’s giving her a box with holes in the sides. “Just don’t shake it, Commander.” He doesn’t say the rest of her unofficial title, and it stings a bit.

The ribbon is red and silky, tied in a giant bow, securing the lid in place. “It’s going to die before she even opens the box.” That must have been Traynor. She pulls the ribbon off and the lid pops off. Out bounces a furry creature she could swear was a dog.

“Je - Joker,” she says, looking down at the ball of energy and fur in her lap. “You got me a dog?”

“I told you that fish for your first pet was just pathetic, Commander. Just - try to remember to feed it more often than every 4.7 days.”

Everyone laughs. By now, they’ve all heard the story of How Shepard Stopped Killing Her Fish, and the phrase “4.7 days” had been tossed around as an estimate of everything from how long it would take dinner to be ready to how long the war with the Reapers would last. It is the Normandy’s favorite punchline.

She laughs good-naturedly with the others. The dog barks up at her. “Trust me, Commander,” he says in an undertone, “I know what you’re going through right now - the dog will help.”

There are multiple questions flying around, but the most often repeated one is what is its name, and he waits until he has their full attention.

“His name is Mordin.”


End file.
